For What it Really Was
by Melissa4321
Summary: Modern Day AU. A traditional story in a familiar setting. E/C eventually
1. A Wish

**A Wish**

Four years. It had been four years ago today, and Christine could not shadow out the memories of her father. Her father with the kind brown eyes and musicians' hands. He had been a violinist for years, and Christine was his melody.

She was his music.

For hours, she would close her eyes, and listen. She made pictures out of the music, and thought up stories to go along with his song. That was her secret delight. Her very own picture show dancing behind her eyelids. Christine cherished the soaring sound of that violin, even as an infant. He played it to peaceful, tiny ears as she rested in the womb of her mother, and still to the enraptured five-year-old who sat before him in the modest parlor.

"Will you teach me, papa?" Christine's father halted and turned round to face her.

"You wish to make your own music do you? Does mine no longer satisfy?" He stretched his face out into a playful smile. Light reflected brightly in his eyes, and Christine couldn't help but expel a silly girlish giggle at his reply, despite the insistence that her request was completely and totally serious. Well, as serious as a five-year-old girl could get, anyway.

"I mean it, papa, I want to learn how to play! You can teach me, can't you?" It was very true…he _could_ teach her. It could be very easy in fact, given her desperation for the instrument and young age in her favor. He hadn't told her, but he had considered teaching her many times. He ultimately came to the conclusion, though, that this was an impossibility, given their current financial situation. There was simply no money to purchase Christine a violin of her own, and countless more after she grew out of them in size and accomplishment. A weak smile, and,

"Perhaps in a few years, Christine." Christine's young heart broke instantly. Her eyes welled up with tears at the injustice, and she stomped her little foot in a display of outrage. Christine's father was not without alternative ideas, though, and suggested that she begin singing with him. She retorted that she didn't want to sing. She wanted to play.

"I remember when I used to play for your mother—she would sing with me. She had the voice of an angel." Christine's blue eyes grew large at the mention of her mother. He hardly ever mentioned her, and when he did, it was always very brief, but very touching. His admiration for her was obvious, even to the naïve little five-year-old girl with the big blue eyes and curly flaxen hair.

But that was in the past. That particular incident had been over four years ago, after all, and when she was not dreaming, Christine could hardly recall the sound of her father's violin. She became distressed because she could no longer remember the exact shape of his kind eyes, 

or his perfect face. She was forgetting her father's face and sounds, but she could never ever forget the things that he taught her.

"The world is really quite simple, Christine, as long as you have faith." He said one afternoon. She was out with him, sitting on the verandah playing with her toy horses and dolls, he relaxing in the wicker rocking chair sipping coffee. Christine had heard him speak, but his intended message gave way to her Arabian Bay, Charles. "Sure, your faith may be tried from time to time," He puffed a perfect ring of smoke from his cigar. "But you must never give up. Promise me, Christine Daae; you'll never give up." She looked into the face of her father and smiled. It was the best she could say.

Her father chuckled. "I know you don't understand now, but someday all this nonsense that comes out of my mouth will make sense to you."

"I know," she said, and she did. That playful afternoon soon melted into the bright red sunset of an august evening. A calm, dense wind wisped the grass and Christine could taste rain in the air. She stayed outside long after her father had retired into the parlor for his violin, and she looked up into the darkening, starless sky.

"I will. I will have faith, Mamma. I promise." A warm breeze tussled Christine's curls and she giggled to herself. She would always have faith.

"That's it, I give up!" The frustrated blonde buried her face in a pillow and screamed. She kicked her legs in fury, much to the amusement of her companion.

"Chrissy, you are being ridiculous. I swear, if you are so into this guy, why don't you just go talk to him?" Christine took the pillow off her face and shot Meg a sour glance.

"I've tried that, Meg, but every time I see him look at me, I feel like I am going to throw up." Meg smiled compassionately.

"Well, I'm no expert, but I'd say that's definitely not a good sign." Meg ducked a flying teddy bear. "I'm sorry, Chrissy," she laughed. "I really am, but you have just got to man up and grab the bull by the horns." Meg raised her eyebrows suggestively, hoping for a laugh, a smile at least from Christine. She hated seeing her friend so upset, especially over some guy. Seeing neither, Meg sighed sympathetically. "Come on," she insisted and grabbed Christine by the arm. "I know exactly what you need."

Meg led Christine into the kitchen and opened the pantry. She buried her face in the selection of 'feminine necessities' and pulled out a brown bag.

"Oh, jeeze, Meg, I can't possibly eat those. Not now…what if I—"Meg interrupted her thought.

"If you say that you are going to get fat, I may have to destroy you. I'll have none such nonsense in my kitchen." _Finally_, a smile from Christine. It wasn't as bright as normal, but at least Meg was making progress. She dumped the contents of the bag into a bowl in the center of the kitchen table, and carried it back to their room. Christine followed eagerly. No matter what the situation, there was no refusing M&M's. They were Christine's favorite vice.

"Now," Meg said, landing on her bed with a mouth full of candies, "tell me what happened. Exactly."

Christine sighed nervously, even reliving the memory made her anxious. "Well, it was in European Lit. He turned around and asked me if he could borrow a pen." Christine paused, giving Meg an impression that was quite false.

"Sounds terrifying." Another flying teddy bear almost hit Meg in the face.

"That's not all, let me finish!" Christine snorted, and then quickly changed her expression to a somber one. "This is very serious."

"Obviously." Christine ignored Meg's sarcasm and went on with her story.

"Well, I heard what he said, and was fully intending on reaching for a pen, I really was…but then he looked at me."

"Dear God, how frightening."

"I got lost, Meg. I forgot where I was, I forgot my name, and I certainly couldn't think of where any pens were. All I could see were his eyes…looking at me. Smiling at me." Meg saved her face from yet another stuffed animal and shoved a handful of M&M's into her mouth before some sarcastic statement or other could come out. Sometimes she had absolutely no control over what she said.

"I was so awkward, Meggy!" Christine grabbed a pillow again, and buried her embarrassed face in it. "I must have sat there staring at him for a half a minute. Then do you know what he did?" For obvious reasons, Christine didn't allow Meg the pleasure of venturing a guess. "He turned back around. He turned back around and got a pen from Carla. He must have thought I was an idiot, just sitting there staring at him." Meg put a comforting arm around her best friend.

"Listen, Christine, I know that I'm not good at this gushy romantic advice…I don't really have the best track record, but speaking from a spectator's point of view, maybe you should practice or something." Christine's eyebrows jumped in skepticism.

"Practice?"

"Yeah, you know…talking to _other_ guys." Meg obviously didn't get it. Other guys were no problem. Christine could talk to practically any guy she wanted to, but when it came to Raoul de Chagny…she was nothing more than a lust puddle. A drooling, stuttering lust puddle who didn't know a pen from a parakeet. And rightfully so…Raoul de Chagny was a dish!

He stood at a glorious 6'2", five beautiful inches taller than Christine, and had a rugged, manly face that mismatched him in the most perfect way. He was anything but a typical male. Raoul's family was rich (which, for some, added to his magnetism), and he and his brother Philip spent a lot of their time funding and attending plays, musicals, operas, ballets, and other arts at the local theatre. Raoul had a reputation around town for his sensitivity and empathy to others. He was involved heavily in charities, and rescued 3 stray cats in the past year.

He sat in front of Christine in her European Lit class, which was nothing short of a miracle. How lost she would get in class, staring at the back of his perfect head. His blonde locks, a shade or two darker than Christine's, feathered down the back of his muscular neck, and were effortlessly voluptuous and perfect.

This was the man of her dreams. Forlorn as she was though, Christine thought perhaps her dreams were the only avenue in which she would ever speak to him.

"Man, I'd do anything for some fatherly advice right about now." Meg gasped. How could she have forgotten today?

"It's been four years now, hasn't it?" Christine nodded sadly. Meg could relate to Christine since she virtually had not father. Meg's parents had been divorced since Meg was only seven, and she hardly ever saw him since then. There had been three Christmases and four birthdays since the divorce until he stopped sending cards. He was very faithful in the beginning, sometimes sending them without occasion, but gradually, these became less and less frequent until they finally stopped altogether.

Meg's mother and Christine's father had been friends since their adolescent days. They knew each other originally through Christine's mother, who was Mrs. Giry's childhood best friend. That is how Christine ended up living with the Giry family. On his death bed, Christine's father had instructed Mrs. Giry to look out for her and keep her safe. She took this very seriously, and adopted Christine at the age of thirteen into her family. Meg was glad for it, since they were best friends themselves, and times got lonely when all she had was her mother to keep her company.

Since then, they were inseparable. They had the bond of sisterhood without sharing any blood. Their dispositions and humors were almost identical, though their looks could not be more opposite.

Christine's bright blonde curls were leagues away from the straight dark brown tresses that Meg had. Each was insatiably jealous of the other's hair, openly willing for a trade if ever possible. If their hair wasn't enough to set them apart, their eyes certainly were. Christine's were a curious shade, somewhere between blue and green, and Meg's were dark as night. Never before had Christine seen eyes as dark as Meg Giry's.

Upon questioning, she told Meg that she had something very important to do, and after some consolation from her best friend, and way too many M&M's, Christine wandered into the basement. Christine's usually light footsteps creaked the old stairs that had buckled over time. Christine was accustomed to that sound, and it never really bothered her before, but tonight, something about that interrupted silence vexed her usually serene temperament.

She walked over to a small box that she had kept hidden in the basement. She took it out and looked at it once every year on this exact date. She knew that dwelling on the past would not bring her father back, but she could never imagine totally leaving him behind, so once a year, she opened this box and looked though her past.

She mostly had pictures in there. She spent an hour and a half at the very least looking at pictures. She saw a small blonde girl smiling affectionately at the man with the rugged brown mustache. She saw that same small blonde girl, a little older, fishing with her still-mustached father off a bridge that has long been gone since the picture was taken. And still, she sees this blonde girl every day, walking past mirrors or in the reflection of dark windows. She knew this girl so well, but the man with the mustache was only ever seen in pictures. She couldn't even _imagine_ his face if she wanted to. Christine frowned to herself.

She sat in front of that small box, looking at pictures, theatre ticket stubs, stuffed animals, and any other random assortments that reminded her of her father. She despaired that she was not allowed to have her father's violin…not just yet. Mrs. Giry had it somewhere that she could never find, despite incessant searches conducted by Christine and her partner in crime.

Christine closed her eyes and tried to put her memory to the test. She tried to imagine his voice, his smell…anything. Searching was fruitless, and the seemingly matured version of this small blonde girl began to cry. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn't bother to brush them away. She welcomed them to wet her face and smear her make-up. She _was_ alone, after all…

"Chris—tine?" The feeble voice of her best friend snapped Christine out of whatever mindset she had been in. A mixture of extreme nostalgia for her father, pity for herself, and also anger in her obvious abandonment of his memory—what kind of a daughter would forget her own father? She became suddenly ashamed and embarrassed of the hot tears rolling down her face. She wiped them away quickly, trying to turn her thoughts once more away from her 

father. "Chrissy, are you alright?" Meg knelt down beside her friend, who had put the lid back on her memory box.

"Yeah, I'm—I'm fine, Meggy." Christine forced a smile.

"Mom was wondering where you've been. She sent me down to make sure you were ok." Christine stared at the wall. "Are you? Really?" Christine nodded.

"I know you understand, Meg. I can't bring him back, but still, I sit down here and I…"

"Pray?" Christine pondered that for a moment, but realized praying was probably something Meg did in regards to her father… that assumption was incorrect in Christine's case.

"No…not _pray_, really. I used to pray for him to come back every night after he died…back when I was 13…no, not praying anymore." Christine knew that a prayer like that would never ever be fulfilled.

"Then what?" Christine thought for a second. She hadn't even really thought about it until now. She hadn't tried to put reason behind her actions.

"Wishing. I'm wishing, Meggy."

"For what?"

"Not _for_ anything really. I'm just wishing that he was somehow with me…wishing he was somehow here again."

They sat like that for as long as they needed to. Best friends brought together by the abandon of their fathers. Their situations had been different of course, but neither was really better off. They both knew this, and understood it in mutual taciturn.

With no fathers, and only one mother between the two of them, they had realized four years ago exactly what it was that they _really_ needed. And right now, they had it, in its purest, most beautiful form.

All they needed was each other.


	2. An Irrational Fear

** An Irrational Fear**

"I don't think I'll ever understand you."

"Well, I hope you consider that a fortunate thing, Meg."

"Christine…the man was a womanizing pervert!" Christine and Meg were in the lunch line one afternoon, discussing…or rather, arguing over, their new European Lit assignment, _Don Juan Tenorio. _

Don Juan was a legend. His story was all about seducing and raping young women and then killing their fiancées, fathers, or whoever he wanted to. Meg thought very low of him, but he was Christine's favorite character, which really shouldn't have surprised Meg one bit.

"He's still the protagonist." Meg tsk'ed and rolled her dark eyes.

"Umm, yeah, and a huge chauvinist!"

"I disagree…I don't think he was chauvinistic at all. He was just really…" Christine searched for a word. Meg found it.

"Horny."

"You make that sound like a bad thing! You of all people, Meg, I am shocked..." Christine smiled and salted her tater tots. Meg, of course denied that she had ever felt horny enough to sleep with people only for murder. _Money_, maybe, but murder… "Besides," Christine continued, "the women were just as horny, jumping in bed with a guy they barely knew."

"Christine, you totally missed the creepiest part—he disguises himself as lover-boy before he gets things going." But Christine hadn't totally missed that part, nor did she recognize anything creepy about it.

"Meg, do you honestly think that those women fell for it? There is no way he could have fooled them. They just wanted some lovin', and since this guy was _trying_ to be their man anyway, it was just a good deal all around." Meg raised an eyebrow. "Well, until the whole murder thing comes into play, anyway."

"I will never, ever understand you, Christine Daae." Christine smiled proudly and shoved a peach wedge into her mouth.

"Yeah, you've mentioned that once or twice." At that very moment, that precious moment, there was a break in the clouds…Christine saw a light and thought 

perhaps that heaven really was attainable. If this was really heaven, she _never_ wanted to come back down to Earth.

"Hey, Christine. Hey, Meg."

Her name. Two syllables never had sounded so perfect to Christine. It was like his mouth was _made_ to say her name. His perfect, perfect mouth…

"Hey, Raoul. I gotta go, Christine, I'll talk to you later," Meg winked and picked up her lunch tray with a sweet smile. She went a few tables over to sit down by some of her friends from the dance team. Far enough away to not be noticed but close enough to get a perfect view of Christine's red face.

Meg was quite the strategist sometimes.

"Uh, may I?" Raoul de Chagny wanted to sit down across from Christine. She eagerly replied in the affirmative, and tried to keep her cool as the Man of her Dreams sat down. It wasn't working. "I really liked your perspective on _Don Juan_ today. It was pretty interesting." Christine's mouth twisted into an embarrassed girlie smile, and she buried her sight into her turkey sandwich.

"Thanks," she said to the turkey sandwich. She was clearly not handling this well. Meg was debating a return, but decided against it.

_Time to fly out of the nest, my little songbird…_

"I, um...see that you've decided on the turkey today." Under normal circumstances, Christine would have scoffed. Today, though, that seemed like the most intelligent observation she had ever heard.

"Yeah. You too, huh?"

"Yeah."

…

"Yeaaaap…"

It was then that the conversation really got going. It's too bad that they kept talking over each other. Christine and Raoul had started making meaningless small talk at the same time, both stopping to yield the conversation to the other, creating a strongly tense silence.

Christine giggled.

Raoul itched his arm.

Meg buried her hysterical face in her hands.

Perhaps it was in vain, but de Chagny attempted to revive this conversation.

"So, are you going to try out for the musical?" Christine smiled and shook her head.

"No way! I couldn't get up there and sing in front of all those people. I'd faint for sure." It was true, too. The only person Christine would sing for was her father. She would only sing with her father's violin.

_Il me trouverait belle, Ah!_

_Comme une demoiselle,_

_il me trouverait belle,_

_Comme une demoiselle,_

_il me trouverait belle!_

It was another lazy Sunday afternoon. Christine and her father had been in the parlor again. He was playing, and she was singing with him.

At first, it had been difficult to persuade her to sing with him. She was embarrassed by her voice, even though her father said she had the voice of an angel. The more he played that violin, though, the more Christine ached to make music of her own. Soon, Christine itched with a desperation she had never experienced before. This hunger simply could not go on unsatisfied, and since she could not play along with him, one day, she opened her mouth and she sang.

_Marguerite, Ce n'est plus toi!_

_Ce n'est plus ton visage;_

_La, ce n'est plus ton visage;_

_Qu'on salut au passage!_

At first, it was delicate. A small, fleeting sound that surprised Mr. Daae that afternoon in the parlor. She was humming shyly, barely audibly in fact. Soon, much to the gratitude of her father, Christine started to sing.

Christine however, was very disappointed. "Why are you crying, daddy?" The poor young girl was heartbroken. _My voice is not beautiful. He doesn't want to hear me sing anymore. I can never ever make music. Never ever…_

"Christine…" he began. "Your voice is so much…so much like your mother's. So much…Christine." He placed his violin down on the chair and raised his small daughter in his arms, and closed his eyes. How much he missed her then. What would he do without his dear Christine? His little angel.

No, she would only sing for him. She was seventeen now, and would still only sing for her father.

Four years.

"Oh." Raoul sounded disappointed, and then coughed. "Well, it should be a good show, anyway. You should rethink auditioning. You seem like you have a pretty voice."

"You've never heard me sing before!" Christine snapped, somewhat accusatory. She wondered how he could assume something like that. Perhaps he had actually heard her once….

That was impossible. She only sang for her father.

"Well…" Raoul began nervously, "You have a very nice speaking voice." Christine blushed.

"Thanks."

"No problem." They smiled at each other, and Christine thought her face was about to melt off. Her whole body, actually.

Meg was laughing a few tables over, but neither Christine nor Raoul noticed.

"Don't ever be afraid Christine," Her father said. "Don't be foolish, either, but…don't ever be frightened." Tears welled in the young girl's eyes and she touched his calloused hand with her own. Her father saw her smooth skin atop his own. She was so young.

How could he leave her? _I have so much to teach her._

How could he leave her? _I have so much to learn._

"I won't, papa. I…" Christine's voice was choked off by her tears. She sobbed, shoulders shaking, and squeezed her father's hand. When Christine was a child, her father could always make the tears go away.

But she couldn't be a child now, and he couldn't make the tears go away.

There was so much he couldn't do. He couldn't sleep in peace, he couldn't last a day without pain, he couldn't leave his bed, he couldn't even play his violin. Out of all this, not being able to stop Christine's tears was what he hated most.

Christine remembered that day. _Don't ever be afraid of anything._

"Are you going to audition, Raoul?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise and then laughed.

"Gosh, no. I'm just the voyeur."

"Oh." Christine was disappointed that she could not buy a ticket to watch Raoul up on stage for an evening. She was actually quite looking forward to that possibility. It was a chance for her to get to stare at him and not be embarrassed. She did stare at the back of his head and his glorious neck often in European Lit, but no one noticed. If anyone could see how much she looked at him, or how analytical her gaze was, she would surely be a laughing stock, and her worst fear would come true; Raoul would not approve.

"But…I bet the musical would be better to watch if you were in it, Christine."

Christine's eyes grew wide with surprise. Had he actually said that, or was she daydreaming? Her daydreams tended to be rather vivid at times, and she often confused them with real life. Judging from DeChagny's face, though, Christine realized that he had actually said it. She knew, but she wasn't very happy about it. Truth be told…she was a little creeped out.

A lot flattered, but a little creeped out.

She smiled then, and looked Raoul in his eyes. His green eyes were traced with an unfamiliar emotion. Christine had no idea.

She had no idea.

Still, she smiled. "Thanks." Christine looked over towards Meg for the first time since she had gone to a different table. Finally, Christine was glad for Meg's disappearance. Without Meg there, Christine could be the sole outlet for Raoul's compliments. He would be far too much of a gentleman to only attend to half of his company.

Meg, though was no longer paying attention. She found more useful employment in consuming her tater tots. Meg would surely hear all about it later, of course. The story would be slightly modified, since Christine was much too modest to recognize the situation for what it really was. Perhaps it would even adopt a scenario from one of her daydreams.

Yes, she would surely daydream about this for the rest of the afternoon. In the meantime, she blushed and looked back at her turkey sandwich, still completely intact.

"So," Raoul continued, "you're very certain that you won't be auditioning?" Nothing could be more certain for Christine. She could not, _would_ not sing for anyone but her father. Even though she thought Raoul was quite worth her extra attention, she was not able to sacrifice her honor to her father by auditioning for some silly high school musical.

"Yes, very."

"Perhaps, then…maybe…if you would want to, I mean…" Raoul was trailing off, and it was making Christine nervous. She didn't know what he was trying to say, and Christine was currently having a difficult time making out his character. "Would you maybe like to go to the musical together? With me, I mean."

_Yes! For all that is good and holy, YES! _Christine's mind was screaming interjections of an overwhelmingly affirmative nature, so Christine sat quietly and seemingly calmly, letting her racing mind catch up to her racing heart, for as Christine knew, nothing good can happen from decisions made from only one of those resources. That was a lesson of her father's.

Raoul continued. "Only if you want to. Please don't say yes just to be nice or anything…not that I'm expecting you to say yes at all, I just want you t—" Christine was prepared now.

"I'll go." She looked into Raoul's stunned face, and expected that he had not accurately heard her. "I will, I'll go with you, Raoul."

His lips drew back into a satisfied smile. "Excellent," he said. "That's great."


	3. A Hazardous Profession

**3. A Hazardous Profession**

"Christine Daae, what on earth is the matter with you?!" Christine had done it again. She was in the middle of dance rehearsal and she had been falling behind tempo, like always.

"I-I'm sorry, Mrs. Giry." Christine sheepishly replied. This had been happening far too often, and Christine was becoming embarrassed from apologizing so much, but how was she supposed to concentrate _today_? Raoul de Chagny had practically just asked her out, and she was besotted with the sweet distraction of him (and his glorious neck).

"Don't be sorry, Daae, be _in time_. I do not intend to be, how you have said, 'a _nag_,' but you simply _must_ stay with the rest of the ensemble!" Despite Christine's love for Mrs. Giry, being the closest thing to a mother she ever had, sometimes Christine could not endure living with her dance coach. It had not been a happy day when Christine divulged her feeling to Meg that Mrs. Giry was a nag, and neither woman nor girls were allowed to forget it.

Some of the girls on the team that knew the story behind the accusation laughed, and those who didn't joined in the laughter anyway, not wanting to be left out.

_I guess the dancing ensemble really __**does**__ do everything together. _

"Christine, I would like to see you in my office." Christine took a step forward, misunderstanding Mrs. Giry's request. " _After_ practice, please." Christine halted and sighed in defeat. She wouldn't worry about it too much though. Not even getting kicked off the dance team could spoil the day she had, and frankly, she wouldn't be surprised if she was about to be kicked off the team. She had been reprimanded more times than the freshmen, after all.

She tried to spare herself from being yelped at by actually attempting to focus in the last 20 minutes they had in the auditorium, though, such a feat was near impossible with Raoul on her mind.

"Ok, girls!" Mrs. Giry clapped her hands. "Go shower, and I'll see you all tomorrow. Don't forget to pick up your practice CD if you haven't already." Christine headed off with the rest of the team into the locker rooms. Mrs. Giry could wait.

"You've really done it this time, Chris." Lucinda Sorelli wasted no time when it came to embarrassing someone. She was a senior on the dance team and fancied herself the lead dancer. Everyone knew she was the best, but the team refused to acknowledge her superiority because of her sour attitude.

"Take it easy, Luce. Why do you always have to pick on Christine?" Bless Meg. She had a gift of knowing when to stand up for Christine (an occasion that seemed to be presenting itself a lot as of late). Meg was much shorter than the 6 foot tall Lucinda Sorelli, but was a 

threat nonetheless because of her quick wit and close connections with the dance coach. Meg knew the position she was in with her mother, and never hesitated to try and pull a few stings when the situation called for it. Christine, on the other hand, could only blush and stare at her feet.

"Well, I can't just let my team suffer because of her. You saw, Meg. She couldn't fit in if her life depended on it."

"…um…right here…" Christine said, more to herself than anyone, but Meg and Lucinda ignored her.

"_Your_ team? Jesus, Sorelli, your family may be rich enough to own half the town, but you do _not_ control this dance team." The left side of Sorelli's mouth smirked into a queer smile. She was obviously amused at Meg's admittance of her wealth, and was waiting for Meg to bow down and worship her perfectly pedicured feet.

Meg would do no such thing. Instead, she narrowed her black eyes at Sorelli and exhaled her restrained infuriation.

"And just because we are supposed feel bad for Chris 'cause her dad kicked the bucket doesn't mean that we should, like, sacrifice everything we've put into this team! If she wants to act like a _professional_ like the rest of us she has to stop craving all this pity attention." A few shocked gasps from the freshman melted into an awkward silence that enveloped the locker room. The girls were not surprised at Sorelli's lack of sensitivity, but neither had they expected her to say something like that right in front of Christine.

Christine's eyes welled with hot tears, and she continued to stare at her feet.

"Aww, now she's gonna cry." Sorelli cooed sarcastically.

Christine still stared downward, tears dripping onto her now bare feet.

"Seriously, Chris, that happened, like, a billion years ago." Sorelli approached Christine and crossed her arms in disdain.

"Get. Over. It."

Sorelli was close enough to Christine that she could feel Sorelli's thick breath float across her face. She could _feel_ the awful words that Sorelli said. Christine's red, teary eyes flashed up to meet Sorelli's, which were not swollen and wet like Christine's, but narrowed sardonically and overflowing with amusement.

Christine thought Sorelli was disgustingly beautiful, but this look in her eyes was nothing but grotesque.

Without completely intending to, Christine huffed in rage and collided her fist with Sorelli's porcelain cheek. Sorelli had not been expecting such a reaction and stumbled backwards uncontrollably (and awkwardly for such a dancer) until she landed on a bench in disbelief. Her hand instinctively flew up to the sight of impact, and her eyes were no longer twinkled with amusement, but now with tears of her own, as she looked up in horror at Christine Daae.

"_Four_ years." Christine growled. "Not, like, a billion." Sorelli gasped quietly , obviously unaccustomed to being mocked, to her face at least. She was still not convinced that sheepish Christine had just punched her. The entire locker room shared a similar reaction to Sorelli's, with the exception of Meg who was amused at Sorelli's long overdue physical beating, and proud of Christine for being the one to do it. Christine noticed and smiled at her best friend, a newfound swell of pride tingling her stomach. She grabbed her duffle bag and began walking to Mrs. Giry's office. She stopped and looked back at Sorelli, pleased to see the red headed horror still in misery.

"And, Sorelli…" The girl's frozen face turned up to meet Christine's. "Don't call me Chris."

Christine was in a violent haze, not sure if she was living another daydream or if she had actually punched out Lucinda Catherine-Marie Sorelli. Through the confusion muddled in her consciousness, Christine could have sworn that she heard Meg commencing a slow clap.

Christine remembered her other obligation and sauntered carefully towards Mrs. Giry's office. Her spirits had been lifted considerably from her conversation with Raoul and her adrenaline had been racing from her attack on Lucinda. It was a strange new feeling for Christine.

Christine floated to Mrs. Giry's door on these new emotions and knocked lightly but assertively on the door. When Christine was granted clearance, she opened the door with a creak and entered. Mrs. Giry was seated at her desk, buried in paperwork and files. With the sound of the creaking door, Mrs. Giry's head rose to look at Christine, only to return her gaze back to whatever it was she was looking at before Christine entered.

Chrsitine's newly enhanced mood was instantly destroyed by the thick realization that she was about to have her ass burned. Her eyes nervously scanned the room, waiting for Mrs. Giry to finish what she was doing. It seemed like centuries until she placed the paper aside, lifted her glasses off the bridge of her nose, and cleared her throat at the now distracted and rather nervous Christine. Christine's head shot in the direction of the noise that made such a contrast to the too-quiet room.

"Christine…" Disappointment seeped through Mrs. Giry's voice, and Christine's cheeks flushed with disgrace. All happy memories of Raoul and the rush from the incident with Sorelli 

had floated away like smoke when the realization of Mrs. Giry finally set in. It was amazing to Christine how such a perfect day could dissolve from something as seemingly inconsequential was dance class. The reality though, was that Christine didn't care at all about the dance team. She hated being a disappointment to Mrs. Giry. In fact, Mrs. Giry was the only reason Christine had joined the team in the first place. She knew how important it was to Meg and her mother and all Christine wanted to do was fit in with the Giry's—she wanted to make Mrs. Giry as proud of her as she was of Meg.

The truth of the matter was, though, that Meg was exponentially more skilled at dancing than Christine would ever hope to be. Meg was leagues better than Sorelli, even. That was something Christine hated facing.—the reality that she didn't even belong in the one place where she felt comfortable. She could never live up to Meg in that respect, but longed for acceptance from Mrs. Giry. Christine was constantly at a battle with herself to try and please Meg and her mother, despite their unconditional love for her.

"Y-yes…?" Christine stuttered nervously. The sound of her timid voice made her blush even more.

_This is ridiculous. _Christine reminded herself_. Mrs. Giry is practically my…_

"Christine, what on earth is going on with you?" Christine said nothing. "You have had your head in the clouds for weeks." Christine shuffled her feet and let her blonde curls fall to cloak her face. "and I'm not the only who has noticed," Mrs. Giry continued. She gestured to a chair facing opposite her, offering a seat for Christine. She sat hesitantly. This all seemed ridiculously formal to Christine. Why couldn't they just discuss this later, at home? Christine was sure she would be more comfortable there, especially if Meg was in her company.

"It's nothing, Mrs. Giry…I just have a lot on my mind." Christine's voice was raspy when she had finally decided to speak. Mrs. Giry sat back in her chair.

"Well, that's very easy to see, Miss Daae." Christine swallowed not at Mrs. Giry's obvious annoyance, but at the sound of her last name. As if she needed anymore to be reminded that she did not belong.

Christine squeaked, "I'm really very sorry."

A sigh. "…I know. I know you are, Christine."

_Finally_, some compassion from Mrs. Giry.

"But, I am still going to have to ask you to shape up, or you put your spot on the team at risk." Christine knew something along these lines would be said, but she was shocked, nonetheless. Her shock brought along with it an unwelcome sense of embarrassment.

_I can't expect Mrs. Giry to cut me any slack. I don't belong to her. I don't belong to this team. _

"Pardon me?" Mrs. Giry arched an eyebrow and lurched forward in her seat. Apparently, Christine's inner monologue had forsaken her again. Christine knew Mrs. Giry had heard her and was only requesting repetition out of disbelief.

"I don't belong to this team." Christine repeated, louder this time. Mrs. Giry was still confused. "I quit."

"Are you sure about this, Christine?" Mrs. Giry was filled with concern, but Christine could swear she senses some relief in Mrs. Giry's voice, and was overcome with self-disgust.

"I'm no dancer, Mrs. Giry. We all know I joined because of Meg. Maybe I should try to find myself somewhere else." Christine had also meant for that last part of her explanation to remain in her head, but she seemed to be disobeying herself quite often as of late.

"I see." Mrs. Giry relaxed back into her chair and dared to ask, "This doesn't have anything to do with Lucinda Sorelli's harsh comment about your father, does it?" Christine allowed herself a gasp. Mrs. Giry had been in her office the whole while. There was no way she could have seen what had just transpired between the two girls, and if she had, Christine was certain that her removal from the team by Mrs. Griry would be irrevocable.

"How…?"

Mrs. Giry simply chuckled at the confused girl's reaction to her assumption. Christine would have been relieved if she had not been so shocked. Though what Mrs. Giry believed to be Christine's reason for retiring from the dance team was only half correct, there was still no way she could have guessed.

Mrs. Giry, on the other hand was completely mentally sound at this point.

"Christine, my dear," She grinned at Christine's red face. "you should know by now. I know everything. I see everything." Her face grew serious, with the exception of her eyes, which were still twinkling with amusement. "Try not to punch out my dancers, Miss Daae. Competition begins next month and I'd hate for there to be any mysterious injuries." Mrs. Giry winked at Christine and then waved her had towards the door.

"You are excused, Christine."

Christine closed her gaping mouth, blinked, and rose from her chair. She stood staring at the still smirking Mrs. Giry for a few moments before turning on her heels and exiting the office, still in mild shock and confusion. She decided to not dwell on it and tried to turn her thoughts to the pleasant ones of Raoul, playing the scene at lunch over and over in her head.


End file.
